Friday, June 25, 2010

Finding it was unexpected; he had forgotten it still existed and was taken aback by the power it still holds on him…A simple toothbrush, a plain boring useless one … but to him it used to be much more than that.Brown, cheap, made out of plastic, a fake ergonomic left-handed version that didn’t fit his hand and the depression of his thumb as many of the really good ones do. He had to keep repositioning the toothbrush in his hands every time he changed from brushing one side of his mouth to the other, so as to reach all the surfaces of his teeth.The dilemmas he used to have every time he used this toothbrush: Do I go against the handle shape or do I rotate my grip on the handle… That was the “question”!

The damn toothbrush didn’t have any advantage over others. It wasn’t even small enough when compared with the conventional ones, his mouth was small so he usually found it uncomfortable to use big brushes when brushing his molars.

With resentment he remembers very well how happy he was the day he bought this toothbrush, the advertisement and the sales person bewitched him with awesome promises: “Super-smile 45° Ergonomic Toothbrush” – Brush your teeth at the proper angle without bogus bells and whistles! “Ha, ha, ha, haaaaa…” Is his answer to all those lies, none of what was promised was true; the toothbrush was everything but that! – Bitterness fills his mouth, so he swallows the saliva with difficulty and annoyance.After a few seconds he smiles, joyfully enjoying his revenge… he found a new love… just a hundred meters away from his flat… at the local supermarket. Just in time to guarantee the greatest, healthiest and brightest smiles a ship’s Captain of his category should have. So, the day he boarded his ship he did it with pride and stature, showing everybody his best smile. Life has been great ever since; the last two weeks were amazing, no disappointments or regrets of any type. Now he is at peace and fulfilled, smiling all the way, felling fresh and clean. No more hand position dilemmas, no more thumb unfitting troubles! Life was good again…

His new brush was designed for comfortable brushing with soft multi-level bristles. This one has a rounded-end, polished bristles specifically designed to protect the enamel and gums. The curved bristles fitted perfectly the contours of his teeth and its small head reached effectively all the hard-to –reach places. It also has a non-slip rubber grip that kept the brush snug in his hand for better control.Life was indeed good again!

With determination and without hesitation he grabs the damn toothbrush and then, almost violently he opens the head’s porthole … after a small hesitant pause – to enjoy the moment – he throws the brush as far as his strong arm lets him. With joy he observes the brush disappearing in the Atlantic Ocean, with the certainty that this was the very last time he was going to see the damn toothbrush…

A wild smile illuminates his dark eyes when he turns back to the sink where his new love is awaiting for him. With tenderness he grabs his new toothbrush and with perfect precision he places the exact right amount of toothpaste required for a perfect tooth brushing.

Life is indeed good again…

This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #20, writing on a theme of the above photo.

Friday, June 18, 2010

A razor… two talesOne as the cutting blade of a thrilling thieveThe other as the master tool of a great chefBoth in France

Blade’s talesOf taste and passionOffering to the godsTo Ambrosia the foodTo Hades the blood

A foolish loveA selfish passion

Razor blade cutting the edgeof two worldsof two obsessionsof two soulsenslaved by fervor

Such was the razor’s fatebut to execute it masters desiresJust a tooljust a contrivanceWith no other choicebut to performand then evokethe memories imbibed on its bladefrom each cutfrom each actof passion and fate

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

The wind is blowing, not to strong not to annoying, but constantly blowing and blowing, and while doing so, as it passes through my hair it whispers in my ear: “It is time to go…. go… go…”

The struggling sun is trying to push the clouds away, but they are resisting very hard. It is their time to reign and conquer the sky, thus fighting back to stay. As I keep walking slowly by the pathway, I silently witness greens bit by bit turning yellow and brown.

Dancing with the wind, leaves free themselves from the trees and like mischievous ballerinas they dance their way to the ground, where mother earth gives them a tender welcome.

A few stubborn flowers remain untouched by the obvious change, though struggling to keep alive they are not yet ready to fade away. The wind utterly tries to blow them away while the clouds hide the sun from them. Soon, very soon their wombs will be ready to nurture the soil, for next spring to blossom with joy.

The cold is getting into my bones; intuitively I hug myself attempting to warm up my body. With nostalgia I scrutinize the horizon, searching for clues and looking for answers, although I know the answers aren’t far away, but it’s still nice to play pretend every now and then.

The sun didn’t make it, since the clouds were very persuasive today on having a proper winter day. Regardless of the cold, the hollowing wind, the luck of sun and the solicitude of the landscape, it is still a beautiful winter day.

I keep walking feeling at peace and content while listening to the wind… it keeps telling me of new lands far, far away… of different people I shall meet… of chances and adventures I will not regret… of fairy tales I must take part in…

The wind of winter bewitched me; I shouldn’t have listened to it, for now I must go… riding with grace the wind of change.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

She kept looking and looking at the stone bust. Despite all her efforts she couldn’t stop staring at it. The face’s expression was too compelling and distressful to be ignored. She has been working at the Museum for almost twenty years; her restoration work was well known around the world, as she has successfully restored many great and valuable pieces.

She did her work with pleasure, treating each piece with profound respect and veneration. Each piece of art was unique, as each one has a story to tell, a message to pass, an emotion to show, a legacy to preserve and a culture to represent.Maria didn’t take her work lightly, one little mistake and a whole world will be destroyed…

Whenever she was restoring she moved into trance, doing the connection with the different artists and allowing their spirits to take over her body, so they could guide her hands and senses throughout the whole restoration process. The connection was so strong that she was able to experience the emotions that drove them to create their pieces, sensing their muses, their quandaries and dramas.But this time Maria is afraid of working with this woman’s bust, she can’t stop thinking about the images she saw the time she attempted to make the connection. She is still shivering and horrified of what was unveiled while in trance.

The bust was the resting nest of many phantoms from the past – it contained the ghosts of many women that were murdered by its artist. It took sixteen of them until he could carve and shape the right expression of astonishment and shock of a person the second after the final breath….

This post is a submission to Magpie Tales #17, writing on a theme of the above photo.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Every time I try to remember something from my past, my memories get distorted and camouflage themselves in-between unorganized snapshots of what could have been. It’s as if I’m not supposed to remember things as they really happened.

In general I have difficulties evoking anything from the past, I can remember the big picture but I can’t recall the details of any specific situation. I remember very well all the houses I have lived in, but I can’t remember my neighbors’ names, my address, or any of my teachers’ names. I sometimes joke saying that I have an “autonomous selective” memory, where my heart and brain choose on their own and as they please, what to be kept and what to thrash away.

I can still feel the emotional pain, the need to escape, the will to disappear that kept hunting me during my childhood and until my early twenties… but I can’t recall the details of the things that made me feel that way. No matter how hard I try, my brain is still refusing to let me dig in for those answers that are buried within the memories. So I keep asking myself over and over: "What is hiding there? Why can’t I remember?"

More than ten years ago while living in Kenya I met a Hindu monk who upon my request read the lines of my hands. I will never forget the way he looked at me after observing for a long time my left palm (the one that represents the past). With tenderness he looked through my eyes searching for my broken soul, but despite his kindhearted effort, he could not pass the defensive systems I had built long ago. My heart was hidden behind an impenetrable wall, afraid of showing up, terrified and alarmed of anyone trying to reach deep enough. The monk couldn’t disguise his sadness, but showed understanding and respected my unconscious but tacit refusal to allow him reaching any further, so after a while he said: “You have had a very rough life; you are a survival who had suffered everything you needed to in this life, so from now on, life will be good. Open your heart, you are safe now”.

I wanted to ask him a thousand questions, I wanted to know what he saw… but I didn’t. Something inside me prevented me from seeking the knowledge I always craved for. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t right to force the past into my life through a stranger’s interpretation of my history. If I was supposed to remember, then the memories will come to me when ready, or else, they will keep smoky and sneaky forever and ever…

After so many ups and downs my heart is finally open and willing to give and receive. The wall is down and all defensive systems have been successfully deactivated, but my memories are still refusing to show up… It doesn’t matter how hard I try to get them back, they are out of my reach, and so I keep asking myself: "What is hiding there? Why can’t I remember?"

If dispersing the smoky memories is going to bring hate, bitterness and regrets, then I should let them rest in peace as they will not contribute to anything positive to my present. Maybe it is time for me to accept that all I need to know from my past is that it happened, that somehow it worked out, and thanks to it I’m who I’m today.